After The Fall

They had been hibernating for the past 48 hours, padding across the wood floors in slippered feet: Lounging in pajamas, not really noting the time or the day.  Then it came, as it always does, Monday Morning.  The day to break out of the bliss and do the drive, the school, the work.  They woke up early to coax the embers of the wood stove, clear the steps, shovel the driveway, scrape the windows, start the engine.

First tracks, not surprising, out of the tiny road.  The air was sharply “booger freezing” yet muffled, serene, quiet, even the ever chattering birds were silenced.  They drove in a snowglobe of floating glittery white, laying first tracks upon the virgin blanket crunching beneath the frozen rubber of tires.

Take the first left turn towards civilization. Still no other tracks then -PLOP!- out from a driveway come the markings of another four wheels. Now it is just the two of them, one behind the other, following the Hansel and Gretel markings on the road,  BFGoodrichs meandering through the ‘hood. Eventually picking up a few more brave traveler’s tracks, Goodyears, and Firestones, but still no moving parts, no vehicles to be seen, except for the dinosaur of a snow plow. Here a snowplow is GOD.  It will get through. It will create a path. It will take out whatever is in its path.  The mantra during the brief passing “please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me,'' muttered with eyes squeezed nearly closed.  Relief as the tanks of the mountain pass by safely.

Careening down the snow packed mountain road, slow going, hypnotised with epic scenery, yet alert and focused on every corner. Colorado Rocky Mountains high blue skies. Powdered evergreens with icicles dripping in full suspension from the tips of their branches, making a mockery of store bought tree tinsel.

With full trust in the sturdy steed shoes of Nokian studded snows.  Navigating  down the olympic worthy toboggan track of the road - yet still no other witnesses.

Block by block. Mile upon mile. Turn, blinker, wiper, tap tap brake, brake. Eventually coming upon  a few Michelins.  Eventually on plowed paved black top. Eventually buses, people, even cyclists. All present and accounted for all keeping calm and carrying on. Breaking us out of the  cocooned weekend on the mountainhey had been hibernating for the past 48 hours, padding across the wood floors in slippered feet: Lounging in pajamas, not really noting the time or the day.  Then it came, as it always does, Monday Morning.  The day to break out of the bliss and do the drive, the school, the work.  They woke up early to coax the embers of the wood stove, clear the steps, shovel the driveway, scrape the windows, start the engine.

First tracks, not surprising, out of the tiny road.  The air was sharply “booger freezing” yet muffled, serene, quiet, even the ever chattering birds were silenced.  They drove in a snowglobe of floating glittery white, laying first tracks upon the virgin blanket crunching beneath the frozen rubber of tires.

Take the first left turn towards civilization. Still no other tracks then -PLOP!- out from a driveway come the markings of another four wheels. Now it is just the two of them, one behind the other, following the Hansel and Gretel markings on the road,  BFGoodrichs meandering through the ‘hood. Eventually picking up a few more brave traveler’s tracks, Goodyears, and Firestones, but still no moving parts, no vehicles to be seen, except for the dinosaur of a snow plow. Here a snowplow is GOD.  It will get through. It will create a path. It will take out whatever is in its path.  The mantra during the brief passing “please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me,'' muttered with eyes squeezed nearly closed.  Relief as the tanks of the mountain pass by safely.

Careening down the snow packed mountain road, slow going, hypnotised with epic scenery, yet alert and focused on every corner. Colorado Rocky Mountains high blue skies. Powdered evergreens with icicles dripping in full suspension from the tips of their branches, making a mockery of store bought tree tinsel.

With full trust in the sturdy steed shoes of Nokian studded snows.  Navigating  down the olympic worthy toboggan track of the road - yet still no other witnesses.

Block by block. Mile upon mile. Turn, blinker, wiper, tap tap brake, brake. Eventually coming upon  a few Michelins.  Eventually on plowed paved black top. Eventually buses, people, even cyclists. All present and accounted for all keeping calm and carrying on. Breaking us out of the  cocooned weekend on the mountain.